


A Crystal Glass Precariously Balanced

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: A Christmas Carol (2019), A Christmas Carol (Mini-Series), A Christmas Carol - BBC, A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
Genre: Angst with no happy ending, Even though her name in the series is Lottie, Further warnings inside, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, and his headmaster, if you’ve seen the series, plus Ebenezer’s father, spoliers for the 2019 BBC mini-series inside, this is not fun, you know what this deals with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: Ebenezer Scrooge is redeemed. Jacob Marley rests easy. The spirits that haunted him that night are gone. But, Christmas is far from over, and the ghosts of Ebenezer’s past will not lie.Please read notes for appropriate warnings!
Relationships: Jacob Marley/Ebenezer Scrooge
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	A Crystal Glass Precariously Balanced

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Merry Christmas! 🎄
> 
> After watching the BBC mini-series, I was compelled to write for the first time in months, so here it is! This is, in keeping with the tone of the series, suitably dark. I’ve taken the same artistic liberties as the show, and as such, this does not closely follow book-cannon, but is in line with the show’s storyline. I’ve not written anything like this before, so this might be deleted later. 
> 
> Spoilers ahead. 
> 
> **Warnings:  
>  Drug use  
> References to alcoholism  
> Rape, non/con  
> References to self-harm  
> Suicide**
> 
> If I’ve overlooked any, please let me know!
> 
> As always,  
> Enjoy!

Ebenezer Scrooge stood before his front door. The brass knocker stared impassively back at him. Had it really only been eighteen hours since he’d last stood here, staring into the eyes of Jacob Marley, snow catching in his eyelashes? Now, only a lion gazed back, eyes an empty gold.

The bell tolled four. It rang through the streets of London. Ebenezer shook himself, and fished the brass key from his pocket with cold, shaking hands. He unlocked the door. His breath misted before his face, and suddenly, he was acutely aware of the cold.

The hand-shaking adrenaline Ebenezer had felt upon leaving the Cratchits’ house had fast drained. He opened the door and stepped into his home. It was as cold - if not colder - inside as it was out. The door slammed behind him. It was still late afternoon, but he was bone tired. Sighing, he kicked off his snow-soaked shoes, and made his way upstairs towards his bedroom. 

His house had never felt emptier. 

Before tonight, Ebenezer Scrooge would not have cared. The old Ebenezer would have returned from work and poured himself a whiskey. He would have counted himself to sleep as he did each night, and have waited for the nightmares. But tonight, _tonight’s_ Ebenezer did care. The laughter of children that never were echoed in his ears with every step he took upstairs. The ghosting touch of his wife brushed his shoulder, and the ringing laugh of his sister came from downstairs. The spectre of his father’s cane flashed in his bedroom, and the brush of dry lips against the back of his neck made him stumble. 

For a moment, he wished his father had never been his to begin with. He wondered if he would have been kinder, gentler. If only his father hadn’t whored him out, if he had been treated as a person, and not a debt, not a burden, not an object to be bartered or sold. What if his sister had told him the truth? If his headmaster hadn’t loved the feel of his tight mouth around his cock? What if Ebenezer Scrooge had seen that people sometimes wanted nothing, that they acted without hope of reward? That people could be kind, and good? Would he still have seen the world in numbers on a ledger? Would people be weighed against profit and money printed on thin paper? Would he have seen laughter, and known a life of love?

He put it out of his mind. It would not do to dwell on old ghosts. The past was behind him. He would not be that man, not any longer. He could not be, for the sake of those he had wronged. For them, he would change. 

The fire in his bedroom had gone out. He lit it, if only to silence his mind. Flint sparked against flint. Once, twice, three times. The spark kindled a flame, and the fire lit in one, large exhale. 

_A factory stood burning. His factory. The dead eyes of a man stared back, charred and empty._

Coal spat sparking embers at him. Ebenezer shook himself. The firelight retreated to the hearth, and the factory returned to the ashes of his memory.

‘Enough now,’ he said into the cold air. ‘That is enough.’

He changed into new clothes, a black overcoat and a clean linen shirt and britches. He thought of the last time he had done this, eighteen hours ago. 

The fire beckoned him, and he fell into his chair. The decanter of whiskey sat as untouched as he’d left it that morning. He drank one glass for its medicinal value, and another in the hopes of calling sleep to him. It did not work, despite the weariness that had sank into his very being. He had been awake for forty hours. He had not eaten in just as many. But his stomach rolled with nausea. Every flickering shadow drew his eye. A third glass of whiskey chased away the frantic beating of his heart. 

It was not enough. 

Cursing, he got unsteadily to his feet. He went to his bedroom, and to the medicines that lay within. His dark eyes scanned the scant few bottles there until they landed on a red label. 

_Laudanum._

Thin fingers reached for the bottle. A painkiller for physical ailments would, perhaps, aid the pain in his heart. He took a generous mouthful as he made his way back to his chair. For good measure, he poured some into his fourth whiskey, then knocked that back as well. The combination made him drowsy, tired and listless. The room swam before him. He closed his eyes against it.

Sleep stalked him like a preying tiger, crawling just beyond his reach. It crept towards him without his notice, until it leapt forth. The crystal slipped from his hand, and shattered on the floor. 

Ebenezer jerked awake. The fire crackled innocuously in the hearth. He tried to calm his racing heartbeat, soothing its erratic pace with slowing breathing. His skin felt too cold and too hot all at once, as if both elements were vying for dominance over him. 

A floorboard creaked. He froze. 

A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye. A cane tapped on the floor. It could not be so, he thought helplessly. The trial was over. The spirits had gone. 

‘Come now, son,’ the voice said. Another man stood behind him, his headmaster. ‘Be a good boy.’

Ebenezer could not move. His body, paralysed with fear, trembled in the light of the fire. Sweat gathered on his brow. The men advanced. His father, for that was who it was, grinned around yellowing teeth. He was exactly as the spirit had shown him to be, as Ebenezer remembered him. His hands carded through Ebenezer’s hair, landing at the crown and _pulling_. The headmaster watched, eyes nothing but inky blackness, darkened by lust and want. 

A small sound pushed past his lips, one of confusion and fear. He tried to run, but he could not. He tried to fight, but he could not. Whether it was fear or cowardice that immobilised him, he did not know. 

‘My, my,’ said the headmaster, ‘look how you’ve grown.’ 

His gaze swept over Ebenezer’s body, from the fear in his blue eyes to the shaking muscles of his thighs. They paused there a moment, and Ebenezer felt ill. His skin burned and itched beneath that wretched gaze. He wanted to claw the man’s eyes out, so that he might never look at Ebenezer again. He wanted to burn where the man’s eyes had looked at him, and cut the hair his father held in tight fingers. 

Phantom pain clawed up his thigh, where his headmaster’s fingers were now trailing. Ebenezer did as he always did. He fell into the recesses of his mind, and counted. Numbers were his friend. Numbers did not betray him, they did not hurt him, they didn’t _fuck_ him. Numbers were logic, and logic was constant. Reason meant truth, reason meant order. 

Those fingers unlaced the ties of his britches, they slid linen up over cold, taught skin. 

Ebenezer began to count anew. First year’s profit - a thought interrupted by warm hands on his cold ribcage - the number had vanished, instead replaced by the shucking of looms, the screams of Welsh, Valley-men, the burning of factories. Sharp nails scratched at the skin on his inner thigh. His father’s hands tightened in his hair. The headmaster coaxed him to his knees. Ebenezer tried to cry out. His voice would not come. In his ears, he heard the sound of horses crying in fear, he saw the shadow decapitate his mouse. His lips parted around a familiar bluntness, warm and salty. The fire danced higher and higher. Something caught him in the back of his throat. He choked, and gagged. His eyes watered. His father was laughing. Coal dust filled the air. The wooden panelling, extravagant oak, cracked. The headmaster moaned, loud and wanton. Warmth spilled in his mouth, falling past his lips and chin. 

A crystal glass fell to the floor and shattered.

Ebenezer jerked awake. The fire burned innocuously in the hearth. There was a hand on his cheek.

_When I talk to myself, alone in here, it is you that I am talking to._

‘Jacob?’

The spectre did not answer. The touch felt real, warm where the spirit had been cold. Jacob wore no chains. He was exactly as he was when Ebenezer had last seen him, late Christmas Eve, seven years ago. His suit was crumpled from sitting all day at his desk. His fingers were yellowed by tobacco once smoked. He smelt of cigars and Ebenezer’s cologne. He wore Ebenezer’s shirt beneath his waistcoat, and Ebenezer’s taste on his lips.

Jacob smiled. It was a rare smile. A _genuine_ smile. Ebenezer’s heart ached anew. Tears seldom shed gathered in his eyes. 

‘Ebenezer.’

‘ _Jacob_.’ He swallowed. ‘What cruel trick is this?’

The hand remained. A thumb ghosted kind crescents through the tracks of his tears. It fell further down, into the cooling wetness on Ebenezer’s swollen, bruised lips. Ebenezer reached for him, cold fingers finding a warm wrist. He went willingly to his knees, pressing thin bones against hot fabric, sealing their lips together. Jacob’s fingers tangled in his hair, grazing over a sensitive scalp. 

Ebenezer hissed. Jacob did not speak. He did not pause. His grip tightened, his teeth sinking into Ebenezer’s lower lip. Deft fingers unlaced his britches. Ebenezer tried to pull back. 

‘Enough, Jacob.’ He swallowed, the fingers in his hair tightening their hold. ‘I don’t-‘ A shuddering exhale. ‘ _Stop_.’

‘I can make you feel good, Ebenezer.’ Jacob’s voice was rough, hoarse from disuse. His fingers found their target, and Ebenezer shuddered, from pain or from pleasure, he did not know. He’d never known with Jacob. He could never tell the difference. ‘Just like you remember.’ 

He remembered. He remembered stolen moments in their youth, drunken fumbles and harsh kisses. He remembered a pain and a pleasure so intense, he could not go without it. He did not know whether to tell Jacob to stop or beg him continue. 

Instead, he sank further into the kiss, giving in to Jacob’s touch. His knees ached on cold flooring. His jaw ached with phantom pain. The familiar ghosts of pleasure sparked up his spine, kindling a low heat in his abdomen. It wasn’t long before he was spilling hot over Jacob’s hand, moaning into that familiar mouth, heart aching for the man he’d loved so much. He threw his head back, Jacob licking up his neck. He leant back, shoulder knocking the chair. 

A crystal glass, precariously balanced, fell to the floor and shattered. 

Ebenezer jerked awake. The fire had long since gone out. The first stirrings of daybreak peered through his still open windows. The room was cold and still. At his feet lay the broken remains of his glass. Whiskey and laudanum seeped into the floorboards. A blinding headache pounded behind his eyes. He swallowed, mouth dry. The clock on the mantle read six in the morning. Every conceivable bone in his body ached. Cold tears wet his face. 

Were it not morning, if Mr. Cratchit was not expecting a check of £500 today, Ebenezer might have drank the entire bottle of laudanum and have been done with it all. If his life from now until his death would be nothing but nightmare after nightmare, spectre after spectre, would it be worth it at all? 

He hauled himself to his feet, still unsteady, still half-drunk. His shin knocked the table. He swore. His eyes found something copper. Two pennies sat on the worn wood, blackened with dirt. Beside them sat a small, green octavo. A cane rested in the corner of the room. 

Forcing dark memories to the recesses if his mind, he moved to the window. Snow had blanketed the city overnight. The knocker-upper was ambling around, dressed in a thick coat, tapping everyone’s windows. A knock came at his window. Ebenezer nodded to show he had heard. The knocker upper moved on. Ebenezer watched him. In the glass, a shadow shifted. A voice whispered in his ear, a phantom touch stirred against his thigh. Children’s laughter echoed from the hallways. A salty taste filled his mouth.

Ebenezer watched the knocker-upper as he moved along the street, hands shaking where they rested against the windowsill. 

Christmas was over. It was done. His demons would retreat, in time, until next year. Later, even the city would revert to normal. Ebenezer would pay Mr Cratchit his £500, and begin formalising the closure of his business. Then, perhaps, he would rewrite his will. 

Later, Ebenezer would do just that. He hand-delivered Mr Cratchit’s severance pay. Mary watched him with calculating eyes. He wondered if she saw the spirits that haunted him, the shadows that followed him everywhere he went. He wondered if she could hear them taunting him, propositioning him, berating him. He signed the documents that would close his company. He saw his lawyer, and rewrote his will; bequeathing half his considerable fortune and his house to the Cratchits. The other half would be distributed to the parish in Abercynnon, to the workers in the factories he’d owned, to the family of his sister. The only item he kept for himself was his sister’s golden pistol, the one she’d used to save him as a child.

Later, Ebenezer went for a walk. He walked from his lawyer’s office to Regent’s Park, and then to the lake which had since refrozen. It was dark. He stood near the bank, staring at the ice, the city lights reflected in its surface. He pulled the pistol from his pocket, and slipped the muzzle neatly between his teeth. The shadow of a touch was in his hair. There were hands around his waist, around his neck. 

He inhaled, and pulled the trigger.

_A crystal glass, precariously balanced, fell to the floor and shattered._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please leave kudos and a comment -feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Much love,  
> K.


End file.
